Fresh As a Daisy
by theshieldteam
Summary: Static Quake AU Prompt: Daisy owns a flower shop and Lincoln lives upstairs. Let's see what happens.
1. Chapter 1

Daisy groaned as she shifted the cardboard box in her arms and looked at the dozens more piled in front of the store. There seemed to be a mountain of them. Like seriously, she'd be surprised if there wasn't a tiny flag waving at the top, claiming the peak for America.

"Mack, why didn't we get, like, professional people to do this?"

"Because they cost money, Daisy," he called from the back of the shop. Daisy paused against the doorway, leaning against the door with her hip to hold it open, and frowned.

"Hold up – does that mean you aren't paying me for this?" Daisy called back.

"I pay you for everything you do here already. It's called having a job."

"Yeah, but –" she began moving again, carrying the box past the front counter and into the back storeroom. "But you aren't paying me _extra_? Stocking isn't a part of my job."

Mack sighed and turned to look at her in the doorway, still holding a couple carnations he was trying to fit into a display bouquet.

"Everything I say is a part of your job is a part of your job, Daisy."  
She narrowed her eyes at him.

"It shouldn't work like that."

"It does."

"It _shouldn't_."

"Tough," he told her, turning back to the arrangement. Daisy sighed in frustration, then turned and plopped the box of flowers on the counter, beginning to unpack them.

"Nope, sorry." Mack said offhandedly, not looking up from his task.

"What now?"

"You gotta bring the rest of 'em in before they get gross out in the sun."

Daisy made a noise of protest that was bigger than any single one she had made so far this morning, if that was even still possible. She turned on her heel and strode angrily towards the front again, barely registering which box she grabbed off the sidewalk.

It was very shortly after she picked up the box that she realized it had, in fact, been supporting many other boxes on top of it. She understood this a fraction of a second before they all came tumbling down on top of her.

"Shit," she said, lying on her back and buried under boxes and boxes of flowers. They'd be a big mess to clean up, not to mention the fact that all the flowers packed inside probably wouldn't have reacted well to being tossed about like that.

Daisy slid an arm behind her and propped herself up, poking a head out of the top of the boxes.

There was a man, a blond man with a ratty-looking backpack standing in front of the mess and looking apprehensive (although not unamused), as if he wanted to help but didn't quite know what to do.

She took a moment to register this, and then swung her other arm up and out of the box pile to hold it out to him.

"Can I have a hand?" she asked somewhat nervously, but while trying to sound cheerful and upbeat.

He had immediately turned to face her directly once she had began to speak, and now nodded and reached out to clasp her hand and pull her up. Boxes tumbled everywhere, and it was all she could do to stay on her feet, grabbing onto the man's arm with her other hand as well for extra support (she nearly pulled him down to the ground again with her in the process).

It was after everything settled, and everyone was standing straight up and steady again, that she realized she was still grasping tight to the man's arm. She dropped it quickly and stepped back, face slightly warmer than it had been a minute ago.

"So – um – are you okay?" he asked, in a voice much softer than Daisy was expecting.

"Oh, yeah.," she assured him. "You could say that hazards like these are – well – a part of the job."

"You work in a flower shop," he said, smiling slightly. "How many hazards do you come across in your day, exactly?" Daisy grinned.

"Okay, well I suppose you could say that hazards like these are a part of the job when it's _me_ that's working."

"Fair enough," he said, making no attempt to hide his amusement. What was odd, however, was that the cheerful edge seemed to fade from his face the minute it got there. She creased her eyebrows slightly, but when she saw him looking confused, she simply nodded and then turned back to the mess below them.

"I guess I'd better – um – get started."

"Do you need a hand?" the man asked quietly, as if he was scared of the answer.

It was then that Daisy accepted the challenge to make this man as cheerful as she possibly could without pumping his lungs full of laughing gas.

She turned back to him, and then as slowly and obviously as she could, looked him up and down.

"I don't know, are you qualified to give me one?"

"Qualified how?" he asked, his voice again becoming slightly amused.

"Well, they're pretty heavy boxes."

"Aren't they filled with flowers?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not the point, blondie. Do you think you're well equipped to help?"

"I'd say so, yes," he said, leaning over to pick up a box and then straightening up. Daisy made a "tsk-tsk" of disapproval.

"See, I didn't think so." Daisy made a gesture towards the box in his arms.

"What am I doing wrong?" he asked, genuinely confused.

Daisy leaned over and picked a box up off the ground before shifting it into her right arm and leaning down again to pick up another one. Before long, she had a pile of boxes on top of each other, towering in her arms in such a way that she doubted they'd even fit in the doorway, let alone her being able to even _see_ past them to the doorway.

"In _my_ shop," she began from behind the boxes, hoping that the blond guy was in the directions she was talking, "in my shop we don't just bring one box at a time."

"Oh, no?" he replied, taking the top three boxes off the top of her tower in order to see her.

"No. We take as many as can possibly fit in our arms, which is why I'm gonna need you to put those in your hands back. I gotta pull my own weight, and –" she looked at him and grinned, "– so do you, sir, if you intend to help at all."

"Are you basically just saying you bet you can carry more boxes at once than me?"

"Well, yeah."

"Challenge accepted."

He placed the three boxes back on her pile and she stepped back. She heard the boxes in front of her shift around.

"How many you got?" she asked.

"Umm..."

Daisy stepped forwards and realized that she had a lot more space around her feet. In fact, she couldn't find any boxes within her vicinity.

"Holy shit, how many do you have?"

"Let's just say I'm winning."

Daisy cracked a grin and then turned towards the door.

"Okay, let's go. Be careful, cause I've already dropped those once."

"Okay." They very slowly made their way through the door (Daisy had to squat to prevent the boxes from hitting the door frame, and from what she could hear, Lincoln had to get down on his knees and shuffle), heading to the back of the shop.

When they entered the back of the shop, Daisy heard Mack turn around and go, "What in the name of Jesus Christ are you doing?"

"Efficiency, Mack." Daisy said. The blond guy laughed behind her.

"Put them down on the counter and you both better pray you don't drop any of those. On that note, I don't think you work for me." Mack eyed the blond guy.

"That's correct, um – sir. I guess I'm what you might call a helping hand."

"Well, thanks. What exactly is your name?" Daisy, having put some of her boxes down, turned with a frown.

"Yeah, I don't think I actually caught your name yet."

"I'm Lincoln." he said, pushing a pile of boxes to the back of the counter and then unloading another couple.

"Again, thanks for the hand. I think Daisy and I've got this under control now, so we'll see you around, hmm?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Lincoln shifted the last of his boxes onto the counter, gave an awkward wave and then turned and left the storeroom. Daisy heard the bell tinkle as he closed the shop door.

They finished up in silence for a few minutes, unpacking the rest of the boxes (it turned out Lincoln had piled seemingly all the remaining boxes into his arms, so there weren't any left by the front to bring in).

"Hey," Daisy began, breaking the silence, "have you ever seen that guy before?"

"Who, Lincoln?"

"Yeah."

"Definitely. He lives upstairs."

Daisy stopped.

"He lives in the apartment above the shop?"

"Yeah. I'd seen him around lots, but he never came in so I hadn't ever talked to him before. Nice to put a name to the face, I guess."

"How come I've never seen him?"

"Not sure, maybe it has to do with your hours. He's usually not around during the day."

"Oh."

Mack stopped what he was doing and turned towards her.

"Speaking of your hours, I'm gonna need you to take the morning shifts for a while."

"Wha – you don't mean _early_ morning, do you?"

"Yeah, sorry."

Daisy groaned.

"Well, I tend to see Lincoln a lot more in the mornings, so maybe he can come and do your job for you again," Mack said lightly, turning around to open the last of the boxes.

"He wasn't doing my _job_ , Mack, he was being friendly. And helpful." Daisy said somewhat scathingly. Mack shrugged.

After a minute, though, Daisy couldn't help feeling slightly more upbeat regarding the morning shifts, given that it looked like she might occasionally have some decent company.

Lincoln strode into his apartment, still smiling slightly from the earlier encounter. It wasn't often he met someone with that much energy, that much humor in them. It really did do something to brighten up a day.

It couldn't last forever, though. He already could feel the leftover cheerfulness fading, the ever-growing sense of dread creeping back into his consciousness.

He dropped his backpack on the table with a thud and flopped down upside down on the couch, his head dangling near the floor. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to retain the last shreds of the banter he'd shared, the bright colours of the shop paired with laughter and music.

The phone rang.

Lincoln swore aloud and grudgingly climbed back off the couch, grabbing his cell from the counter a few feet away.

"It's Lincoln."

"Hey, buddy. Listen, I'm in a bit of trouble and it'd help me out a real lot if you could –" Lincoln's eyes narrowed and he began to breathe more quickly in anger.

"I'm not bailing you out again."

"It's not even that much, Linc."

"I don't care," Lincoln said icily before hanging up and slamming the phone back onto the counter and leaving his hand there, on top of it. He hung his head there for a minute, eyes shut and trying to block out the lump in his throat.

Part of him wished that the phone would ring again, just so he could say "piss off" again, only louder and angrier this time.

He lifted his head and coughed loudly, clearing the stinging sensation from his throat. With a shaking hand, Lincoln went to his back pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper. Capital black letters screamed the words "Rent Notice" from the top of the paper.

Lincoln stared at those words for a second before grabbing it with his other hand and crumpling the paper up into a ball. He stepped out onto his balcony and looked out at the city, cloaked in night, before throwing the paper ball as hard as he could. His body twisted and then the momentum of his swing threw him forwards against his balcony railing. Lincoln pushed off again and strode inside quickly before flopping back down on the couch, this time right side up.

He sat there for what seemed like a very long time, staring blankly at the wall above the TV. Nothing had changed, nothing had gone away and there was still no magical solution.

The phone rang again, and Lincoln pressed his shaking fists to his eyes.

When he answered it, however, it wasn't in the fashion he'd imagined. He didn't yell, he didn't curse, he didn't even ask what had happened.

"On my way."

"Knew I could count on you, man," said the voice on the other end. Lincoln could detect a hint of triumph. He hated that, but it wouldn't change anything. Lincoln grabbed his jacket off the table where it lay askew beside his backpack, and walked out the door, not even bothering to lock it on his way out.

An hour later, Lincoln came back in the unlocked door, sat down on the couch, turned on the TV and tried not to think about how he'd just spent money he didn't have.


	2. Chapter 2

Daisy banged her head against the counter, hard.

 _BANG._

She did it again, loudly and with her eyes screwed up tight.

 _BANG._

Again.

 _BANG_.

And again.

 _BANG_.

And again.

 _BANG._

And just as she was about to (take a wild guess) do it again, the bell over the door tinkled. She whipped her head up and blinked, hard. It was Lincoln. She smiled.

"Am I interrupting something?" Lincoln asked.

Daisy shook her head and cleared her throat.

"Um, no. Not at all. In fact, you are the opposite of an interruption, you're –" Daisy looked at the clock, and then him in realization, "– you're up kind of early, aren't you?"

Lincoln nodded and smiled grimly.

"More accurately, I'm actually up pretty late."

Daisy's eyes widened.

"What are you doing staying up until 5:30?"

"Night shift at work."

Her eyes softened and she gave him an apologetic look. He shrugged.

"It's okay, I'm used to it. It's me every night, so my sleep schedule's shifted. Although I wouldn't say the same for you," he nodded to the coffee in her hand as he spoke. "Is that why you were banging your head on the counter?"

"Precisely."

He smiled, and then his eyebrows came together in a confused look.

"Why is there a flower shop open at 5:30 in the morning?" Daisy sighed and nodded, because she as well had asked this question.

"Yeah, apparently Mack – my boss – has this theory that early in the morning is when more people need to buy flowers. He has the whole science behind it, if you ask him – which I wouldn't recommend, he doesn't shut up. 'Early bird' and all that."

"Hang on, he has a science behind it?"

"Yep. It has something to do with how the morning is when one feels most cheerful, because nothing's gone wrong in their day yet, so for some reason that makes them feel obligated to go buy flowers – I really don't know. And," she continued as Lincoln looked slightly overwhelmed, "for some reason, when I show him sales that prove that _absolutely nobody_ buys flowers at 6:00 in the morning, he shakes his head and claims that it's just an off day."

"Hold on," Lincoln said carefully, "I still don't get – does he seriously expect people to wake up at this hour of the morning? Most sane people sleep until later."  
"Well, he thinks we should cover all possible hours of awakening just in case."

Lincoln gave an apologetic look not unlike the one she had given him a short time ago.

"Anyways," she cut in, "are you done with asking for the exact details of my job? Because I do sort of need to get back to it."

"Get back to what, exactly? I mean, you did just finish explaining that nobody buys flowers at 6:00 in the morning."  
"Fair point. But I still have to be here."

"Well, I'll be here with you if you're bored."

"Mack won't like me talking while I'm on the job, unless it's to sell something."

Lincoln shrugged.

"Guess I'll have to buy some flowers."

And he did. Or _a_ flower, to be precise. Just one. A carnation. He tucked it behind his ear and then leaned over the counter to chat with Daisy some more.

He did that several times, in fact. He came more often, after work, although not usually more than once a week (after all, he worked a night shift and there were only so many hours he could stay awake for). Occasionally he would go out and buy coffee in the morning for her on the days she didn't have time to get any before she came to work (she's often wave a fiver at him and beg until he'd concede). And he always bought a flower, even though she'd long stopped insisting.

He only ever bought one, though _which_ one it was changed all the time. Sometimes a morning glory, sometimes a snapdragon, sometimes a tulip. But most often, he bought daisies. Probably purely so he could see the eye roll she gave when he selected it. Here's a secret, though: the eye roll wasn't entirely honest. You could say it was a mechanism that prevented her cheeks turning red. Of course _he_ didn't know this; that was the point of the eye roll.

It was one of these days, when Daisy was drinking coffee and Lincoln had a daisy tucked behind his ear, that she offhandedly said "I still can't believe I hadn't ever seen you until the box incident."  
"Well, like I said, night hours."

"But still – you've lived in your apartment for how long?"

"Around two years, although –" Lincoln cut off abruptly.

"Although what?" she asked, confused. Lincoln didn't continue. Daisy nudged him over the counter. "C'mon," she said. It seemed he had suddenly noticed something of interest on one of his hands, because he was staring very carefully and intensely at them.

"Although perhaps not for much longer," he mumbled.

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Ahh, you know." He made a nonchalant waving motion, seemingly trying to wave the conversation away.  
"No, I really don't," Daisy said with a frown. Lincoln sighed hard.

"Well," he began reluctantly, "things aren't going great with money right now or whatever, but I'm fine," he said, insisting the last part.

"Are you sure? I mean, if it's at the stage where you're possibly losing your apartment, maybe that's something to be concerned about."

" _I said I'm okay._ " His words came out more forcefully this time. Daisy leaned back slightly and glanced down at her hands, resting on the counter beside each other.

Lincoln put the heels of his hands to the back of his closed eyelids.

"Listen, it's a tough situation sometimes, but really, I'll be okay. I think – I think I've thought of a way to sort it out."

"I mean – even if you do lose your apartment, there's friends that you could stay with, right? Or maybe family?"

At the last word, Lincoln's hands came slowly away from his face, which had hardened.

"I guess that's a backup strategy. Thanks." he said, not sounding in the least bit thankful. In fact, Daisy thought his voice sounded angrier now, or – no – it was with and edge of despair to it. She was struck at just how quickly his demeanor had changed from perky and upbeat with a flower in his hair all the way to shaking hands and speaking as if the wrong words could send him somewhere she didn't think she would want to witness.

Lincoln abruptly took a sharp intake of breath and pushed himself up from leaning on the counter. He grasped the daisy behind his ear, twirled it around, and smiled weakly.

"I should go," he told her.

"Uh – okay."

He slowly made his way out of the store, glancing back and giving a half-hearted wave before pushing the door open, flinching slightly when the bell on the top pealed.

Daisy tucked her hair behind her ear as she leaned down behind the counter to pick up her coffee cup. Holding it with both hands and staring hard at the door that had just closed, Daisy took a long sip and wondered exactly what kind of "tough situation" could bring a cheerful young man to near tears just at the thought of it.

And in a flower shop, of all places.

Lincoln gently closed the door behind him and sighed. It seemed that after every meeting with Daisy, he was destined to enter a whole new level of desperation. Perhaps it was the contrast between the bright flower shop and the drab grey of his apartment with the empty fridge and the uncomfortable couch.

It wasn't like he'd come directly from the shop, though, as evidenced by the darkening sky outside. Lincoln's stomach seemed to fill with lead as he realized he would need to go back to work very soon, and he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep in the day.

It had, in fact, been a terrible idea for him to walk around after he left the shop that morning. He hadn't been able to help it, though. Coming back to this place just reminded him of every burden that was currently resting on his shoulders, and how he didn't have any easy solutions coming to mind for any of them. It just seemed easier to stroll around, free from dread or particularly inquisitive flower shop cashiers or anything else that reminded him that he didn't have a way out yet, as he for some reason saw fit to continually remind himself.

Lincoln gingerly reached around to his back pocket and slid the daisy out of it and held it there, in his hand. He cursed at himself for not getting home earlier, if for nothing else than to perhaps keep the flower alive.

He looked up at the table and at the small collection of flowers that resided there, inside the tallest glass he'd been able to find.

He went over and carefully slid the flower stem in until it had reached the water in the lower half of the glass. As Lincoln pulled his hand away from the glass, he slowly went around and briefly touched each flower there, as he tried to say all their names. He felt guilty as he realized that the only ones he could name on cue were the daisies. If he thought hard enough, another few names came to mind, but none as quickly as the daisies. Then again, that name did seem to somewhat stick in his memory.

He sat down at the table and placed his fists on either side of the flower vase. Lincoln looked at it hard and decided that, from now on, he would keep his problems to himself. He wasn't going to taint the brightness that was Daisy and her flower shop with anything he brought in. It was, indeed, one of the brightest things in his life at the moment. Heck, the flowers were the brightest things in his apartment, too.

Speaking of which, he needed to fill up the flower arrangement. The couple flowers he had there looked a little lonely all by themselves, even though the little charm they brought was more than any other decoration Lincoln had ever bought.

So Lincoln sat there and contemplated exactly which flower he was going to buy the next time in the flower shop, and how he wouldn't talk about anything that was stressing him out. He could feel his mind easing, relaxing, as he focused entirely on something to look forward to doing.

 _A morning glory again, maybe. No, a poppy. Something red or purple, anyways. It'll match the ones I've already got,_ he considered. It was then that Lincoln could feel his mind begin to go fuzzy. His hands unclenched and his eyelids began to droop.

 _Maybe another daisy_ , he thought. _Just to make up for acting weird today._

 _Yeah, a daisy_ , he decided, just as he slumped forward in the chair and let his eyelids finally, after over 24 hours, come to a close.


	3. Chapter 3

Lincoln gave a harsh kick towards a clump of grass growing between the sidewalk slabs. He missed and instead struck the uneven slab of concrete, immediately shifting onto the other leg as he reached down to grasp his now-injured toe.

"Shit!" he barked, hopping around in a circle with his hurt foot up in the air. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."

It seemed that at the moment, the world was determined to make his life as difficult as possible, whether that ranged from hurting his toe all the way to – he sighed loudly – screwing up in a crucial job interview.

He had been replaying all the things he did wrong in his mind, ever since he'd left the building, but the one thing that was the most prominent was at the end, when the woman had said "Thank you for interviewing with us," and he had replied with "you, too."

Lincoln gave a grim chuckle and then bit his lip, considering the options he had left. There was still the other mechanic's place, on the other side of town. He could go for a janitor kind of job, if things got too tough.

 _'Too tough_ ', he thought with a sort of dark amusement again. He laughed even harder now.

 _Now what could possibly be defined as 'too tough', I wonder_ , he thought sarcastically. _Maybe... If I was late on the rent for my apartment. Or maybe if I was in a certain amount of debt in other areas._

With a last ditch attempt at some genuine humor in his shitty day, Lincoln thought, _Maybe a money-sucking trouble-making relative might do the trick_.

It didn't cheer him up.

Big surprise.

He found himself going over the interview again, analyzing exactly what he had said and exactly how the interviewer had reacted and exactly what he was _not_ going to say the next time.

In his distraction, he didn't notice that he had walked directly past his apartment door and was standing in front of the flower shop. He looked in carefully, hoping to catch a glimpse of Daisy, but there was only another woman who looked at him somewhat apprehensively – which he got, by the way, since he _had_ come and looked through this window around every day just on the off chance that Daisy would be working in the afternoon. That couldn't seem normal to whoever worked the till at this time of day.

He hadn't had a chance to explain things to Daisy – in his opinion, more proof that the universe was trying to make his life difficult.

"Lincoln!" He heard a shout behind him.

He turned abruptly and then Daisy was behind him and wow, was he ever happy to see her. Seriously, it was like, for example, when you really like apple pie, and then you don't have apple pie for a while, and then you take a bite of it later and it's like _holy shit_. That was the only way Lincoln could think to describe it.

Daisy was running towards him and he couldn't think of anything else to do but hold out his arms and hug her when she got close enough.

"Wow, it's good to see you!" he exclaimed, pulling her out to arm's length so that he could try and desperately catch his memory up on exactly what she looked like.

She let him do this with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical expression.

"Good to see you too."  
Lincoln bit his lip.

"Haven't seen you in a while. A month, actually, Lincoln," she continued.

Lincoln winced slightly. It sounded worse when she said it than when he had been thinking it this whole time.

"I mean, you're entitled to your own space and free time, and I get that you need to sleep during the day, but you could've given me a heads up, if I needed to start buying my own coffee," she added with a slight frown on her face.

Lincoln laughed the same laugh he'd been laughing all day, the _how-ironic-is-this-and-if-only-you-knew_ laugh.

"Well," he began, slinging an arm over her shoulder, "the lack of sleep thing won't be much of a problem for a while now, considering I lost my job."

"What?!" Daisy looked appalled, and then slightly guilty.

"Let's walk for a bit, okay?"

"Sure, fine," Daisy said, still watching him carefully. They began to go back down the sidewalk. Lincoln's arm still over Daisy's shoulder.  
"Yeah, you remember the last time I came to the shop? I bought a daisy."

"Sure, yeah."

"Well, after that I went out for the day, and when I finally got home, I feel dead asleep right away. Missed my shift. My boss fired me on the spot when I walked through the doors in the morning."

"That seems like he's overreacting a tad."

"You don't know him. He'd punch a hole in the wall if somebody wore a shirt that clashed with their tie one day." Memories of the small bald man exploding at Lincoln for bringing the wrong kind of paper into the office rushed back.  
"Well, then it might be for the best that you got fired. I mean, who wants a boss like that anyways?"

"I guess," Lincoln said as he tried to shake off the bad recollection. "Anyways, the reason I haven't been around is interviews." Lincoln said resignedly.

"Job interviews?"

"Yes."

Daisy was quiet again for a much longer time, walking slowly and not looking up.

Then suddenly, she said "I don't want to impose or anything, but last time you came round I also remember you saying something about your apartment and getting kind of upset about it – actually, that's why I thought you stopped coming at first."

"Nah, my skin is thicker than that."

"But – I mean – you've got enough saved for a while, yeah?" She sounded slightly worried.

Lincoln took a big sigh and then abruptly stopped walking.

"Let's go up to my apartment for a minute, okay?" he asked. Daisy looked a little taken aback by his request, but nodded. They turned back and walked for a bit until they reached the door beside the flower shop. Lincoln unlocked it with his key, and they ascended the stairs together.

When they reached the top, Daisy went through the door first and then entered his apartment. He turned back to close the door at the top of the stairs, and then turned around again to see her standing by his table, gently fingering the petals of one of the daisies there.

"I didn't know you kept them." she said, her eyebrows drawn together.

"What, you thought I would throw them away?"

She shrugged and turned towards him with a half-smile.

"Anyways, why'd we come up here?"

"Thought you might wanna see my pad."

Daisy raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, no. I brought you up here because – um –" Lincoln struggled to find words. "Okay, the basics of it – okay."

Daisy looked amused.

"I guess the best way to do this is to just show you." Lincoln said in defeat, striding over to his kitchen counter, where his phone lay, and picking it up.

"What are you –"

Lincoln held up a finger in her direction as he pressed buttons on his phone. He then set it down and stepped back, nervously crossing his arms as the message began to play.

" _Hey, buddy, it's me. I'm in a bit of a – um – bind and maybe could you come get me? The bail's only like a couple hundred, you can handle it. I'll pay you back soon, okay? I'm at the station on the west side."_

Lincoln glanced up at Daisy, whose face was still confused.

"Is that –"

Lincoln cut her off again and played another message.

" _Sup Linc, so I kinda got arrested again, but it was only for a minor offense, the bail's a lot less than last time, and I swear I'll pay you back, I just gotta get some stuff in order – rent and debt and stuff – you know how it is. Anyways, I'm on the west side again."_

 _"Hey Lincoln, west side again. I swear I'll pay you back for all of em this time, I got an idea for some new money – anyways, see you in a few."_

 _"Hey, I'm east side today. Hurry up."_

Lincoln's arms had alternated from being folded, to being at his side, to having his hands pressed against his eyelids as the messages continued to play. After a couple more, he moved forwards and turned the phone off, probably pressing the buttons a little harder than necessary.

Daisy was still standing in the same place, but without the same confused look. She now had her eyebrows furrowed and her arms crossed.

"How long has this been happening?" she asked. Her voice had a tone to it that Lincoln couldn't quite place.

"Around a year."  
"Who's the person?"

"My brother."  
"Doesn't he have friends, a girlfriend, maybe, to bail him out?"

"Nope. Just me."  
"What about parents?"

"Both dead."

Daisy's face softened slightly, but the interrogation continued.

"Has he ever payed you back?"

"Once or twice, yeah."

"But not consistently. After a while on the messages, he stopped saying he would, right?"

"I – yeah."

The questions stopped for a minute while Daisy was presumably processing. Lincoln sighed big and walked over to the couch, flopping down. He felt somehow better, as if letting someone know about this had taken a load off, but also still very nervous. He wasn't sure why.

Daisy came over to sit on the couch next to him.

"Is it out of the question to suggest you stop going?"  
"I –" Lincoln took another deep breath. "I try every time, but – he –"

He could feel the lump in his throat growing bigger by the second, hurting, as well as a stinging feeling behind his eyes. _Goddamn it_ , he thought. Daisy seemed to notice what was happening and placed her hand on his arm.

"He doesn't have anyone else to do it," he continued, as he felt his voice crack. "But I don't have the money to do it this consistently, and especially not now that I don't have a job." Lincoln swallowed and stopped talking. He felt as if he wouldn't be able to control the next words out of his mouth, so he just held them in.

He glanced over at Daisy, and was surprised to see her face was near to tears, as well. _We don't even know each other that well,_ he thought in confusion. _I don't even know if I'd call us friends yet, and – here she is, sad on my behalf._

Lincoln was puzzled even more when he realized, _for that matter, I promised I'd keep her out of this in the first place. Why did I tell her? I mean, it's not like I had anyone else to tell, but still._

 _Maybe some people are just like that,_ he thought. _They've got that trustworthy sense about them, and then they reassure you by reacting to whatever you told them in the 'right way'_.

Lincoln felt slightly more wary towards Daisy now. Having that trustworthy sense about you could either be a good tool for making friends, or a weapon for revealing secrets.

Lincoln pulled his arm out from under her grasp and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Lincoln," Daisy began. It seemed she had sensed the change in his behavior. "Lincoln, what if – what if I –" She seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. Lincoln stiffened. From his perspective, if she was going to suggest what he thought she was, she could struggle with those words for however long.

"I could – well – loan to you, if you need –"

"No." Lincoln said firmly and somewhat coldly. He had been right. This only reinforced the idea that she wasn't using her natural dependability for good. What normal human being would act like this around someone they barely knew?

"I mean – but why? I've got the money, and you don't have to get it back right away – you know what, you don't even need to give it back at all," she continued, her eyes big and pleading.

Lincoln stood up, fast and facing away from her.

"I don't take _charity_ ," he said heatedly.

"No, it's not –"

"I think you need to go, Daisy."

He wrenched open the door and gestured out angrily. As she slowly got up off the couch, Lincoln abruptly turned on his heel and strode into the bedroom, slamming it the door angrily behind him. He heard the door outside close quietly, and Daisy's footsteps slowly recede as she went down the stairs.

He came out of the bedroom, shaking and feeling as if someone had let off fireworks inside his body, before dousing them with ice cold water to put them out.

He moved towards the kitchen and considered picking up the phone and calling Daisy, before he dismissed it as ridiculous. She had just left and besides, he didn't even know her number.

His eyes lifted to the table, to the bouquet of flowers inside the glass.

With a sinking feeling, he considered the fact that he wouldn't be adding on to the collection anytime soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Daisy leaned against the counter of the shop with her head in her hands and wished she had superpowers.

Not like; flying or whatever (although that'd be pretty damn cool), but something like being able to reverse time or read minds, maybe. That certainly would've made her current situation a lot less lonely.

It wasn't like she didn't have anyone, of course. She had Mack, obviously, and other friends. But somehow, with Lincoln gone (most likely permanently), there was a piece missing that she hadn't even known was part of the puzzle. That puzzle had felt – not exactly incomplete, but definitely missing something for around two weeks now, ever since the godforsaken day on which Daisy was an idiotic jackass.

So yeah, superpowers would've been great in that she could a) have gone back to the moment right before she opened her big fat yap, and b) read Lincoln's mind and maybe understand what he had wanted her to say.

She pondered this for a minute. _I mean, it's understandable that nobody likes to feel looked down upon, that's clear enough,_ she intentions hadn't been to hurt Lincoln in the least, though. From what she had gathered about him based on their brief couple mornings together was that he certainly didn't need more hurt in his life.

The exact opposite, in fact. He needed laughter, and brightness, and – her gaze shifted down from the ever-closed door to the display of bright yellow and white flowers at the front – _he needed flowers_.

Flowers.

Now, _that_ was a superpower she had.

A plan was forming in Daisy's mind, and quickly. Not a very good plan, probably, but a plan nonetheless, and goddamn it, she would try anything. Because as far as she could tell, the flowers Lincoln had been collecting from before (she smiled a little, remembering) had been the brightest things in that broom closet of an apartment.

So maybe she'd make things a little brighter.

Daisy swung around the edge of the counter and slid over to the display case (the word 'slid' was being very literal; she didn't have shoes on, only socks). She grabbed a bunch of daisies out of the several gatherings they were in, and went back over to the counter to grab one of the decorative ribbons she usually used for gift-wrapping. She promptly tied together the flowers into a small but bright bouquet, and just before she went out the door, Daisy remembered that these flowers actually cost money, and so slapped a 10 dollar bill in the register (she figured she could calculate the actual cost later).

Daisy left the shop in her socks and with the door unlocked (after all, he literally did live right next door) and turned towards Lincoln's apartment. With a sudden, sinking feeling, she realized that the door at the bottom locked rather than the one at the top.

When she tried it, however, it opened. _Lincoln must've forgotten to lock it today or something,_ she thought as she climbed the stairs.

When Daisy reached the door at the top of the stairs, the one that led into Lincoln's apartment, it was closed. Not wanting to trespass or intrude, she knocked.

Daisy waited with bated breath for a few minutes as she listened hard for footsteps. She heard some coming towards the door and for a minute she was certain it was about to open, but then she heard a small huff of frustrated air and then receding footsteps again.

There was a peephole in the door. Lincoln must've seen it was her and then promptly decided not to open the door.

That was fine. She could do this without being face to face with him. It made it easier, in fact.

"Okay, Lincoln, I know you're there. It's fine, you don't need to open the door or even acknowledge me, because I just want you to listen."

She took a deep breath.

"I, um – brought flowers. I mean – I brought daisies, since I know you were keeping all of the other flowers, and I thought daisies would add on nicely, I guess. Anyways, I'll leave the flowers here when I leave, so that you can come and get them without having to see me or talk to me or whatever."

She leaned the flowers against the wall in the corner by his door and straightened up again.

"Okay, so I'll start with something really simple – I'm sorry." Daisy paused for a second. "I'm sorry about the way you took things. I'm not, however, sorry about what I did. I'm not going to feel guilty for it.

"I wasn't offering you charity, Lincoln. I was trying to offer you help. I wasn't asking for anything in return, especially not any form of debt and not even any form of thanks, if you didn't want to.

"It wasn't something big and great that I was trying to do, I wasn't expecting you to bow down and admire me. I wasn't expecting devotion. It shouldn't have even looked like that, it – it's shouldn't be considered some big _thing_ , to help someone. It should be considered a necessity, or a requirement of human existence.

"Anyways, that's what I was trying to do. Fufill a requirement. Help you. Help a –" she paused again, "– help a friend." She waited for a minute, but Lincoln didn't respond to anything, so she continued.

"I should have maybe changed the way I set it up or offered it, but I wouldn't take back the offer if I could – and I would know something about wanting to undo things. As you might be able to tell, I've got the kind of mouth that lets things slip easily. But not this. It wasn't an accident." As Daisy was saying the words with every second she realized they were true. "I meant it and I still do. And even if you say no – even if you turn it down – which I would completely understand, by the way. Even if you do, I'd like it if maybe – maybe you would come back. Buy some flowers again," she finished with a touch of sadness.

"Or mooch them off me through guilt," she continued as she glanced at the flowers in the corner. "You're pretty much our only customer, anyways."

Daisy swallowed hard and took a step back from the door. She waited for a second to see if perhaps the door would open, but a few minutes passed without any sound from inside or movement of the door. Daisy's heart sank into her stomach.

"I'll just, um – go, then," she said halfheartedly as she turned. She was beginning to realize how stupid an idea this had actually been from the start. Lincoln wouldn't forgive her. Not for just flowers, anyways. Maybe no endless supply of apologies would bring him back.

As she turned away, though, she heard loud, heavy footsteps approaching the door fast. _Pit-pat-pit-pat-PIT-PAT._ Her heart jumped back up out of her stomach and into her throat as the door in front of her was wrenched open and out of it came Lincoln, with a look on his face somewhere between desperation and sadness and guilt, all at once. Without hesitation, he flung forwards and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder.

Daisy had definitely not been expecting _this_ , but she responded in kind, bouncing back from the force of the hug and flinging her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly into his ear, as they rocked back and forth.

"You already said that," he said back, his voice muffled.

There's something more satisfying in getting something back after you've lost it. Lincoln seemed to enjoy time with Daisy even more now, if possible, mostly because he had gone without it for so long.

When they had first talked after that morning with her through-the-wall apology, he had decided that he would rather go without money from Daisy, which she refrained from taking personally (or tried to, Lincoln could see it bugged her a little). He also noted that he would like to try and keep his financial and personal situation out of their friendship – _that's right, it's a friendship,_ he had reminded himself while they were talking. He didn't have many of lose lately. But anyways, they did steer clear of the topic of work.

On the topic of work, however, he was still without a job, which was still a lot of stress on his shoulders, but somehow it didn't feel as pressing. At least, it didn't until the phone rang.

He found, however, that sometimes he could forget about the ringing.

It used to never leave his ears, but now things were different. Now he heard a different bell; the on that sang every time he opened the door to the flower shop.

Lincoln was there every morning now, too. He did, of course, go and look around for work during the other hours of the day, but he always started by waking up at pretty much the ass-crack of dawn, and meeting a (usually) very tired Daisy as she unlocked the shop.

It was on one of these days when they were rearranging one of the displays – Lincoln had thought it looked sort of garish – that Daisy had brought up the ever present topic (one which they had poked and prodded and laughed at during the montage of mornings) or how damn early her shift was.

"Mack says I can take the later shift," she said offhandedly, tucking a couple lilies into a different vase.

"Really?" he asked, leaning against the display case.

"Yeah, it seems he's finally given up on the idea that the morning is the busiest time of the day,"

"I thought he had a science behind it, though," Lincoln said somewhat teasingly.

"It seems he's rethought the science, much to my gratification."

"Yeah, thank god for that."

"Anyways," Daisy began, with a more careful tone now, "I think it'll be later in the day now, so you can swing by after the interviews instead of before."

Lincoln noted the defensiveness she carried, and he understood why she carried it. They were still on somewhat shaky ground – although closer friends than ever now, which didn't quite make sense, but he was okay with the arrangement, nonetheless.

Nevertheless, Lincoln nodded.

"I guess I won't have to buy you coffee anymore," he said, trying to communicate some level of reassurance.

The reassurance was somewhat a surprise to himself, too, though. He was realizing a couple things.

One thing; that Daisy had now become a part of his day, not part of his free time. She was a non-negotiable block. Perhaps the block wasn't always in the same place, but it was always there.

The second thing he found was that he was quite okay with that.


	5. Chapter 5

"I swear, if Rachel and Joey don't get together soon – it's been like a whole season of pining!"

"I'm sorry, but do you _remember_ seasons one and two? Do you remember the mutual pining that Rachel and Ross went through?"

"Okay, but they were a terrible couple."

"You're definitely just saying that because you don't like Ross."

"No. Listen, if one half of the pizza has anchovies, is it a good pizza as a whole? No. Get a new pizza."  
Daisy snorted, making Lincoln jump a little bit. He then turned towards her with a raised eyebrows.

"Hey, it's a fair metaphor."  
"It is so _not_."

Daisy was sitting on Lincoln's couch with a bucket of caramel popcorn and her legs over his. He was leaning slightly towards her, and they were both facing the TV as their fifteenth consecutive episode of _Friends_ played.

"Pizza to people? Plus, is Rachel supposed to represent the side of the pizza without anchovies? Cause I'm pretty sure you suggested scrapping the _entire_ pizza, meaning throwing away Rachel as well as Ross."  
Lincoln pondered this for a minute, and then replied, "Okay, so we cut off the half with anchovies and replace it with, like, pepperoni."

"I really don't think that people cut off and replace half of a pizza, so it still really isn't a fair metaphor."

"Okay, consider this: Ross and Rachel are a quilt. Rachel is this alternating bluey-purple colour pattern. Ross is an ugly yellow that somebody threw up on, like, twice. We cut off the Ross and sew on another pretty corresponding pattern."

"Which would be Joey."

"Yes."

"Who in the first place, may I ask, would sow an ugly yellow colour onto a pretty alternating blue and purple pattern?"  
"Someone with the same taste in character pairings as the writers of this show. Or you," he added, giving Daisy a disdainful look. She threw a hand against her chest in dramatic offence.

"Did I say I shipped Ross and Rachel? Did I, Lincoln?"

He continued to look at her in the same way, eyes narrowed.

"I can feel it. You do." She shrugged and turned back to the TV, putting another hand of caramel popcorn in her mouth.

"Whatever. At least _I_ had seen Friends by the time I turned 20."

Lincoln smacked her feet where they rested on his lap.

"Hey." She grinned, but didn't retaliate.

Watching TV at Lincoln's house after her shift had become a regular thing now. This was good, since Daisy had several shows that aired on weeknights almost the second her shift ended, and when going home on the subway, she usually missed the first ten minutes or so.

The only problem with this was that while Lincoln liked one or so of these shows, he did not like all of them, so a few nights a week he was forced to sit through something he had no interest in. She payed him back by letting him pick on the other nights.

A while ago, Lincoln had mentioned while scrolling through Netflix that he had never seen _Friends_. Daisy had, of course, responded with the appropriate level of shock, and then lo and behold, they were nine seasons in.

Lincoln groaned as Ross came on screen.

"You must really hate him, huh," she remarked.

"I just –"

The phone rang.

Lincoln immediately stiffened. Daisy slowly lifted her feet off of his lap and sat up straight.

"Don't answer." Lincoln's jaw clenched. "Lincoln, don't answer it."

Without responding, Lincoln slowly got up off the couch and went over to where his phone lay on the table. Daisy bit her lip.

In a sudden, violent movement, Lincoln picked up the phone and pulled it to his ear. Daisy swore under her breath.

"Hello," he addressed the caller. They answered.

From what Daisy could tell immediately, it was of course the one person he didn't want it to be.

She stood up and went over slowly, as if trying not to spook him, like he was a wild animal that could bolt at any moment. She gently took his hand from where it hung beside him, clenched.

"Lincoln," she said. He gave no sign that he'd heard her. "Lincoln, hang up."

His brother was still talking, from what she could hear. Lincoln wasn't really responding to it or to anything, for that matter.

" _Hang up the phone, Lincoln,_ " she said more firmly.

He turned to her slowly, still showing no sign of recognition or emotion or _anything_ on his face.

Daisy nodded.

In another violent movement, he whipped the phone away from his ear and slammed it onto the table.

Daisy took one of her hands away from holding his and slid it up his arm, to rest on his shoulder. She then tugged on it, turning him in her direction. Looking him dead in the eye, she said,

"You hung up. That's good."

He nodded firmly, but she noticed he swallowed hard, as if there were a lump in his throat.

Lincoln was looking her dead in the eye, somewhat intensely, and she stared straight back, trying to see how this was affecting him. It was the scary kind of calm that he was maintaining, the kind where you don't know exactly what it's masking.

The phone rang again.

Lincoln pulled away abruptly and grabbed the phone with his hand. He didn't bring it to his ear, though. He just stood there, holding it as it rang.

Then suddenly, as if a rocket had gone off inside his body, he lurched forward and threw the phone.

It hit the wall with a resounding _crack_ and slid to the floor, where it lay, ringing no more. Daisy took a slightly worried glance back at Lincoln.

Lincoln hadn't slipped back into his eerie calmness. The opposite, really. He looked about ready to explode.

He slammed a fist on the table (making Daisy jump) and then another, and then another, and then against the wall, and then against the furniture. He knocked a chair over and then a second, and then he grabbed a potted plant from the windowsill and threw it against the floor, where it broke.

"Lincoln, stop!" Daisy yelled, trying to get in the way of his warpath.

He went into the kitchen, rage still burning off of his body in waves, and began grabbing plates out of the cupboard before throwing them, one by one, onto the tile floor where they shattered into millions of pieces.

Daisy continued to protest loudly, finding a way through the destruction until she was pressed up against him as he writhed and attempted to grab anything within reach that he could break. She was pushing with all her might back against him, but he slid out of her grasp and around to the table, where he grabbed a mug sitting there, and broke that too; coffee spilled everywhere. He then turned his frantic gaze upon the table, upon the vase full of flowers.

Daisy stopped. Full on stopped moving, stopped yelling, stopped everything as she watched him.

He had seemed to have come to. He was still gazing at the flowers.

"Lincoln," Daisy said, her voice cracking. She wasn't sure when tears had come, but she was now fully aware of them sliding down her face.

He turned towards her with such a broken look on his face that it seemed at that moment that you could've heard Daisy's heart crack from inside her chest.

It was then that Lincoln began to cry, too.

He slid to the floor, his head in his hands, and knelt there with shoulders shaking. Daisy did not hesitate to move forward and kneel with him among the broken pieces of things that littered the floor. She slid her arms around his shoulders and pressed her forehead to his as both their tears fell to the floor in what seemed like a torrent.

"It's okay," she said, the salty tears spilling into her mouth. He nodded against her but didn't move from his position on the floor. "It's okay, you hung up. You don't have to go get him." He nodded again, and began taking deep, shuddering breaths trying to calm down. She could feel his heart thudding through the contact they were in, and it wasn't slowing down.

He sucked in a huge breath and then pulled away from her, the heels of his hands pressed against his closed eyes.

Daisy let him be for a minute and leaned back against the wall, still kneeling. She wiped tears from her eyes and thought for a second; thought about the thing she didn't want to think about.

She was hitting the realization that she wasn't helping anything. Not just here, not just now – although it was pretty clear that her words weren't doing anything to calm him down – but in general.

She couldn't make his problems disappear, she couldn't solve his unsolvable problems. She wasn't the magical solution.

 _Maybe there isn't one_ , she thought. _Maybe he's helpless._

And fuck, did Daisy feel helpless. She felt helpless as she turned back to Lincoln and saw him still rocking back and forth, crying. She felt helpless as she leaned forward and grasped his arm, only to see it have no effect on his rapid breathing. She felt helpless as he pulled his hands away from his eyes to not show sadness – but to show desperation, to show brokenness.

She felt helpless as she kissed him.

And then suddenly: she didn't.

She didn't feel helpless or hopeless or anything really; except fire, except something burning so hot and heavy that she felt it flow from her chest out to her fingertips in its destructive, burning, path. She thought that maybe Lincoln could feel it too, because he responded in kind, with fire and with something else – maybe it was anger – that she could feel pulsing off them in waves.

She felt his arms everywhere on her; hers remained tightly around his neck, trying desperately to get somehow closer, get warmer and step deeper into the flames she could feel engulfing them.

And yes, the heat. She was surprised that not everything around them had burst into flames, because fuck, was it _hot_. Not the sexy kind of hot, though. The kind of hot that burns down forests, the kind that destroys buildings and everything in its path, the kind that can't be controlled – can't be harnessed.

The kind of hot that burns.

 _Too_ hot.

Daisy pulled away with a gasp, throwing herself back against the wall and looking for something – anything, really – to hang on to. Because if _that_ had been hot, this was like water crashing down everywhere around her. She felt like she was drowning in too much all at once, and there was no way to get back to the surface.

Lincoln seemed to be in the same situation, although his face was searching for an explanation – anything, really, to explain what had just happened. But then he seemed to decide something. And with that split-second decision, he leaned back forwards again and captured Daisy's lips with his own.

She felt herself getting close to the fire and anger and chaos again, but then still somehow drowning, and then she pulled herself out of all of it; with three words she didn't even mean to say.

Daisy tugged back from him and then shuddering and out of breath, said, "Not – like – this."

There was a pause.

Lincoln didn't move forward again, he simply remained stock-still.

It was then that she realized what she had just let slip, and then next realized that she needed something other than intoxicating fire or thundering waves. She needed – air.

Daisy pushed back away from the wall and from Lincoln, and threw herself towards his door in desperation, trying to leave before the words she was thinking of could escape his mouth – but then they did, right before she left.

"But then – how?"

Daisy knew it was coming, but that didn't mean she was ready to deal with it. So she continued out. She slammed the door and almost fell down the stairs on her way, but safely made it onto the street, where the cool night air washed over her and seemed to slow her thundering heartbeat.

She had left for a single and simple reason. The single and simple reason now burned through her mind not unlike the fire that was Lincoln's kisses, except this was a different kind of fire. One she couldn't quench with slamming doors and fresh air.

She didn't want him to say those words he had said in her presence - "but then, how?" - because _she_ didn't know the answer to them _either_.

But thinking about it,

it wasn't hard to guess.


	6. Chapter 6

For someone who was unemployed, Lincoln had really had his mind on things other than work probably more than usual. Although it wasn't like he was neglecting it.

He just had other things taking up his mindspace right now.

Like, for example (out of the blue), maybe kissing Daisy. Or Daisy kissing him. He wasn't really sure what had happened there, really. Emotions had been running high and all.

So yes, that was something on his mind. But the primary thing, really, was what had happened after the kiss. When Daisy had left. For the love of god, he couldn't figure it out. If she wanted to go down that path, why did she run away? If she didn't want to go there, why did she kiss him?

All these things and more had been swirling around Lincoln's head since it had happened. He had come to no conclusion. He would've liked to hear her thoughts on the subject, but she must've been taking a work leave or something, because she was never at the shop when he came around. He was _always_ around, too. It wasn't like he had anything keep him busy, other than the occasional job interview.

They were few and far between, too. He wasn't getting anywhere, and he was running out of options. In fact, he was considering moving to somewhere else, just to put distance between him and his brother and then open up some new opportunities.

But anyways, Lincoln wasn't about to do anything without talking to Daisy first and that was proving difficult.

Or it had been, until the doorbell rang one day.

He nearly flung himself towards the door as he then galloped down the stairs, flinging the door open to reveal – nobody.

Lincoln turned to look in the flower shop, but it was a young man he didn't recognize at the till. He was just about to actually go in and ask if the guy had seen anyone at his door, and then he heard a flap.

Lincoln looked down. There was a folded note on the ground, flapping around slightly in the wind. He picked it up urgently and unfolded it.

 _Lincoln_ , it began at the top. _I'd like to start by saying I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done – the thing I did. Especially while you were in a vulnerable state. I shouldn't have done it at all, really. I realize now that if I wanted this to happen, things might have gone better if I had gone about it in a different way._

 _I_ _ **did**_ _want it to happen. It's been a rough couple days in realizing you don't._

 _Or even if you did, you certainly won't after whatever I pulled._

 _Better to keep this drama out of your life, you've got enough problems as it is, and I fear I'm only making things worse._

 _I've been absent from the flower shop as I worked a few things out, but I'll be back soon. I'll treat you like a normal customer, I guess, if you ever come in again. Not sure why you'd want to, but it's fine._

 _I'll stay away, it's best for you._

 _Daisy._

Lincoln reread the note several times, trying to make sure he had actually understood what she was saying,

"What the _actual_ hell," he said aloud, once he'd got the meaning straight. Was she seriously blaming herself for this? And not only that, was she seriously under the impression that – Lincoln felt a lump in his throat, for some reason – the impression that she had made his life _worse?_

He crumpled up the paper, just as he had the rent notice so many months ago. It was a different kind of desperation here, though.

He wasn't desperate to leave behind a bad situation, he was desperate to _not_ leave behind a _good_ one.

And damn it, he was going to do something about it.

For the third time that day, Lincoln peeked through the window of the flower shop. Daisy still hadn't arrived yet, even though he knew for a fact that she was taking the morning shifts again. He had asked her friend behind the counter the other day, who had confirmed it before noting "You must really want to see her to wake up at 5:30, huh," to which Lincoln had responded with a quick nod and nervous grin. It was accurate, after all.

He heard a sudden sound from inside the shop, of the back door hitting something. He knew that Daisy did this every time, because she forgot that there was a filing cabinet fight behind the door and always swung it open too far.

He slid around the corner so she couldn't see him, and then waited until he heard her unlock the front door. As he peeked back around, he saw her flip the sign to Open. She then retreated back to the till.

Lincoln waited a few minutes trying to build up some nerve and figure out exactly what to say in his head. He didn't even really have a plan, he just wanted to see her. Catch her off guard, maybe. Not that it was very nice to do so, but it'd be a lot easier to get out the things he wanted to if she wasn't ready with quick responses.

He whipped around the corner with renewed vigor and pulled open the door.

Daisy glanced up, glanced back down at her magazine again, and then froze. She looked up again, slowly.

Lincoln waved.

Daisy visibly swallowed hard and then straightened up.

"Can I help you?" she asked somewhat robotically. Lincoln's heart sank slightly, but he continued anyways.

"I'd like to buy some flowers," he said quietly and carefully. Daisy cleared her throat.

"Is there something specific you're looking for?" she asked.

"Yes, actually, but I don't see it out front here," Lincoln said, glancing around. Daisy coughed. He knew that she knew exactly what he was looking for, but she played dumb anyways.

"I can take you to our selection in the back, if you'd like," she said, turning around and gesturing for him to follow her. Lincoln did, his hand ghosting over the flowers as he walked past them. They entered the back room and Daisy turned to him again.

He could see the pain in the way she interacted with him, but also a little of the same friendliness he remembered. His heart rose up into his throat.

"So... What exactly are you looking for?"

"Well, I like daises," he said softly, trying to gouge her reaction. She almost visibly winced, but kept it under wraps and nodded.

"What exactly are you using them for, though? Because flowers mean a lot of different things, so maybe you actually would be better suited with something – different." Lincoln heard the pain in those words, and also the different meaning behind them.

"I think I'm looking specifically for daisies, actually." She swallowed hard and then continued to insist.

"I really think you'd be more suited with something else – lilies, maybe – something more direct. See, daises can send all kinds of messages and you really don't want someone to misinterpret them, right?" Maybe you'd be better off with these –" she piled some carnations in his arms, "– or these –" now it was tulips, "– or these, I've always found that traditional goes well –" there were roses there now, "or maybe, um..."

Daisy was acting with a bit of desperation, looking for another type of flower she could give him that weren't the daisies. He rolled his eyes slightly.

From behind the mountain of flowers in his arms, he said a short, quick, "I'm pretty firmly set on the daisies, even if you don't think they're – um – right for the job."

"Poppies!" she exclaimed. "Here, poppies are very good too – although their meaning is somewhat darker – sleep and death, you know," she said as she turned to add another couple flowers to his pile.

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Lincoln said, right before he dropped all the flowers onto the floor, grabbed Daisy around the waist, and kissed her.

She was frozen for a few seconds, not reciprocating, but then her self control seemed to crack and she responded with full enthusiasm. The heat was there again, but now it was like sunlight, soft and warm and comfortable.

They both were so enthusiastic about it, in fact, that Lincoln could feel himself slipping. He pulled away with a jerk and said "Wait!" but they were already too far gone.

They tumbled into the sea of flowers. In some cases, this could've been very cliché and romantic, but in their case, "Ow – thorns."

Daisy was laying on top of him, him having fallen backwards and knocking her legs out from under her.

"You know, I do really think that roses are prettier," she said offhandedly, looking mischievously at him from the corner of her eye as she gently touched the petals.

"Shut up," said Lincoln as he leaned up to kiss her again.

Lincoln tiptoed across the floor towards his kitchen counter. There was a bag of chips there, untouched but practically begging to be eaten. He gently lifted them off the counter and winced when they crackled.

Daisy, sitting on his couch, gave a sharp "Shh!" while trying to hold in her laughter. She was mostly unsuccessful. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking slightly.

Lincoln was biting on his lip to keep from laughing as well. He began to gently place his sock-toed feet, one after the other, on a path back to his couch.

The TV was on, playing an episode of _Friends._ They'd long since finished the show, but now they were on the rerun stage – watching all their favourite ones again. As they were still trying to be silent, the subtitles were on.

Lincoln made it back to the couch and gently rested on it. He handed the bag of chips to Daisy, who promptly tugged very softly on the edges, trying to open them without making noise. Lincoln turned to the TV.

"You know," he began in a whisper, "subtitles does really take away from the comedic tone of this show, doesn't it."

"Well, we could turn the volume all the way up, if you want."

Lincoln made a face. She raised her eyebrows.

"Never seen you so keen to avoid work."

Lincoln glanced back towards the phone on the counter. It hadn't rang in quite a while.

"Let's just say there's not so much desperation for money anymore."

Daisy grinned as she finally pulled open the bag of chips.

"Don't let the bag crackle," Lincoln whispered warningly. She stuck a hand in the bag. It crackled. Lincoln looked at her, and she made a cheeky smile.

He dove across the couch and grabbed her wrists, pinning the chip bag between them. He was sprawled atop of her, and their faces were inches apart. He had his eyes narrowed.

"Crackle that bag again and it will be the last thing you ever do," he whispered ominously.

She raised an eyebrow and moved her hand quickly towards the bag, probably intending to crackle as loud as she could. Before that happened, however, there was a loud banging noise, coming from the floor.

 _BANG. BANG. BANG._

"Damn it," said Lincoln. Daisy shrugged her shoulders and threw a few chips into her mouth.

"Guess we gotta go," she said. Lincoln rolled his eyes at her and got up off of her, turning towards the door. She followed, still carrying the chip bag.

They bounded down the stairs and through the door, turning towards the front of the flower shop. Mack was standing there with a broom in his hand, the handle just a few inches from the ceiling. He waved them in.

Lincoln and Daisy walked sheepishly in. Or, Lincoln did. Daisy was still eating chips.

Mack threw them two envelopes. Lincoln opened it to find a check inside.

"You're late this week," Daisy remarked as she opened hers. "Don't we get paid Tuesdays?"

"I'm only off by a day, so stuff it. Be glad I paid you at all, with all the skipping out you two've been doing."

Lincoln grimaced as he grabbed his name tag off the counter and pinned it to his shirt. Daisy did the same as she asked, "How'd you know we were up there?"

"Well, you two obviously weren't at work," Mack said, gesturing around to the empty flower shop as he turned to leave.

"No – I mean how'd you know we were there? I could've been in the park, Lincoln could've been at the store – how'd you know we were up there together?"

Mack was halfway out the door when he turned back.

"Well – where else would you be?"


End file.
